Hair Adventures
by incredibly-edible
Summary: 'Oh China your hair is so luscious...you simply must let me style it, hmm? Why don't you come over tonight! No, no that will not do...tomorrow? No, that neither. I know! Sunday, yes you shall come over on Sunday. I'll see you there' And that was how China signed himself up to a hair styling session with is dearest friend France...


**Beta'd vaguely by the lovely Issy. It turns out the history of Chinese hairstyles is absolutely fascinating, for links to various articles, see the bottom. **

**I do not own Hetalia.**

'China you must let me have a go styling your beautiful hair, no? It's so thick and luscious, oh! You have me dying of envy. I wonder what I could do if I had my curlers…the opportunities are endless! When can you come over, today? How about tomorrow? The day after? Yes, Yes you shall come over Sunday, it shall be perfect.'

And that was how China managed to sign himself up to a hair styling session with his dearest friend France.

He doesn't know how he gets himself into these messes.

-Sunday-

With great caution, China entered France's house the following Sunday. It would have been rude not to show up, tempting though it had been, and China does not want to be rude – he has honour. That was, most definitely, the only reason he was here. Although it had been a very, very long time since he had styled anyone's hair…

'China! You're here! Oh, I've been anticipating your arrival – this is going to be so much fun.'

He definitely regrets coming.

He doesn't get a single word in as France assaults him with verbal nonsense (something about hair curlers and oil that don't sound particularly 'fun') and he's ushered into a large room that's packed floor to ceiling with hair products.

In amongst France's intimidating babbling he starts gesturing at China with a variety of instruments that look like they're designed for torture.

'France, don't come any closer to me with those instruments! I thought you said we were here to style hair?'

France has the decency to look a little abashed at this.

'Oh, I'm sorry! This is just the way I normally go about hair styling…ok, how about you sit down in this chair over here- ' he gestures at said chair ' – and I'll take you through some of my favourite curling techniques, yes?'

'Those are…hair curlers?' China hisses. The feelings of discomfort and fear have not gone away.

'Yes, dear China. But do not worry, ok? You'll look so fabulous when I'm done with you that no one will be able to resist you.'

China wonders whether he'll be able to resist the urge to strangle the smiling frenchman.

France manhandles him into the chair which is deceptively comfortable despite it's impractically elegant appearance. He refuses to give in and sink back into the chair because that would mean that France would win. He sits rigidly straight with an almost aggressive sort of determination.

The blond gives a frustrated huff.

'Would you just relax, please? We're hair styling not torturing.'

'I'll have you know that it is perfectly possible for hair styling to be a form of torture.'

'Mmmhmm, that sounds likely. Now If I could just get you to sit further back a little like this…' He forcefully shoves China further into the (traitorously comfortable) chair. He will not give in.

But damn, it's a very comfortable chair.

'Actually, in my country people take hair very seriously. We like our hair very long -'

'- Like a woman's hair, no?'

'What? No! I thought you'd understand! No, no, long hair shows that you are a man. It shows that you are fertile.'

'No need to be so defensive. I think the feminine look is very sexy.'

'Oh my god.'

With deft hands and expert precision, France clips China's hair into sections and heats up several hair curlers.

'You won't be…shaving my head will you?'

'Uh! You wound me! I would never dare to do such a thing to such beautiful hair.'

'Oh, ok then. Just to be sure - no cutting either?'

'Well, I've always wanted to see you with your hair short enough for gel. Get it all spiky and ruffled…'

China tries to look darkly at him.

'Oh, my friend, you are so cute. I could just eat you up, mmmm…'

China explodes.

'YOU WILL NOT CUT MY HAIR, UNDERSTAND? I WILL NOT HAVE SUCH A BLOW TO MY HONOUR!'

France just laughs. Suggestively. Or maybe that's just his normal laugh.

'AND I AM NOT CUTE! STOP LAUGHING AT ME!' China screams at him, while standing up. He tries to look threatening, but he realises that with his hair half up in curlers, this may not work very well. He also tries to look intimidating, but he's a deal shorter than France, and this may not work either.

France stops laughing and takes China by the shoulders. (Although he is shrugged off instantly.)

'Ah, my dear China I meant no offence. My goodness, you have a temper on you, no?'

'You will not cut my hair.'

'Ugh, China, it's not such a big deal.'

He resists the urge to throttle France for suggesting such a thing, and spits out: 'How dare you say that. My people have died for their hair in the past.'

France laughs (again suggestively. He clearly cannot help it)

'Nonsense China no one would actually die for hair.'

'We would die to protect our honour.' He says quietly.

France stops grinning.

'Wait, you are not serious?' he says, sitting the shorter man back into the chair. He decides to put down the hair curlers in his hand in light of the change in atmosphere.

'I do not joke. My boss was once a man named emperor Taizu, and he was a Manchurian. He was an awful man, and my people suffered.' China closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and continues. 'When he first arrived we wore our hair the way we have always worn it - tied up, but very long when let down. I told you how important long hair is?'

France nods, although he can't say he fully understands. He wonders how the mood changed so quickly, and how he can get it back.

'Well, the manchus wore their hair shaved at the front, with a long plaited tail or queue down the back. And for my people? If you were a conformer, you wore it that way too. But if you followed the old ways, you wore you hair the traditional way.

'At first people simply refused. The new officials were reluctant to force people to shave - such a shameful thing - and well, bribes were usually enough to get away with it.

'But then came the day when the emperor had had enough. He ordered my people to shave, or face execution.'

The frenchman gasps.

'No!'

'Yes. There were many officials who refused. They were killed. Barbers used to walk around carrying both their equipment and the heads of the executed as an example.'

'It is not possible!'

'Yes. It is. It was. There were large areas that resisted the invasion. In some parts the manchus managed to barely gain control of the cities whilst the rebels ruled the surrounding land. In Jiading, it was said that "those who had their hair could not go into the city, while those who had lost their hair dared not go out". Many died.'

'Oh, mon ami…' says France, startled into french.

'I am so sorry. Here - sit back.' And China finally gives into to the chair. The traitorously comfortable chair. France runs his hands through the sections of hair that he has yet to pin up into the curlers, and then he resumes where he left off.

'I am glad you do not wear your hair like that any more, no? I don't think it was very flattering anyway.'

'I did not think so either France.' And China feels better. He's settled into the chair with France running his skilled hands through his hair, and he feels…nice.

'Hey France?' He says after several lazy moments of silence.

'Yes?'

'You're not going to make me wear one of your wigs, are you? You know, the big white ones?' The hands in his hair falter slightly. Is that a blush that he can see in the mirror - spread across France's cheeks?

'Ah, no. No I- I don't think we'll get those out anytime soon…'

'Thank goodness!'

'Yeah. I, ugh. Look that was a pretty embarrassing time for me, ok? I love my hair…my beautiful, perfect hair, and well - at the time I had to wear those…those highly unflattering white monstrosities.' He lets out a small sob. He sneers the word "unflattering" like its poisonous. 'But the ladies had it different. They looked exquisite, wigs far more elaborate and impressive. Beautiful, painstakingly crafted dresses …'

He sighs with longing.

China just tries not to laugh at him. He fails.

'What's so funny?'

The shorter man tries to stop, and manages to say: 'I'm picturing you dressed like a woman in one of those gowns. Also, those wigs were ridiculous!'

France pales.

'I n-never said anything about dressing like a woman! Where do you get these silly ideas…haha. ha.' He removes his hands from China's hair, finally finished with the hair curlers. He sprays it to stay in place, and then moves his hands restlessly, unsure what to do with them while he waits for the curlers to be done. So he runs them through his own hair instead.

'Neither did I… Oh my god, you did didn't you! You dressed like a woman!'

'WHAT? No, no you're wrong I…ok, OK, it's too late now. I…yes I did. But please dear China you can't tell anybody you must understand those dresses were simply ten times more beautiful that those disgusting, ugh, stockings. It was torture, pure torture, and meanwhile the dresses were so beautiful and so soft. Please, China, I'm begging you, don't tell anyone! Please! I'd never get any peace!'

At this point France is actually on his knees at China's feet, clawing at his trousers.

'Get off me!' the shorter man says, whilst he drags the frenchman up by his shoulders and stands up. He roughly shoves him into the chair he has just vacated.

He also can't stop laughing.

'Shut up! Please, please don't tell' he begs, tears streaming down his face as he clings to China's arms. 'You don't understand what it was like! Those beautiful wigs. The barbers were so skilled back then. But The men's wigs were so distasteful I couldn't stand to look so horrible. I wore dresses so elegant…wigs so high. Ugh, they had to raise the doorways for us beautiful ladies and our extravagant hair…'

China doubles over with the force of his laughter.

'I. Can't. Breathe.'

The blond gets more and more agitated.

'Shut up! It's not funny!'

'You like to dress like a woman!'

'You like to wear your hair long, like a woman!'

'You wore petticoats.'

'They were beautiful petticoats.'

The two men glare at each other. The silence gets strained and angry for several seconds. It grows and becomes louder until neither can bear it and they both crack up helplessly.

China is the first to calm down. He begins running his hands through the frenchman's hair.

'Ok France, I think I will give you one of my favourite old hairstyles…favourite old girl's hairstyle…'

France sighs in defeat. He can't deny that he is definitely curious.

'Ah well, why not, no? I want to be fabulous.'

'Do not worry, you will be.'

— Several hours later —-

China shakes his head and large voluminous curls ripple down his back. They fall perfectly and somewhere in the distance, several hollywood supermodels cry with jealously.

France tilts his head to the side in the large mirror. The intricate loops of his hair - lengthened with hair extensions - stick out from his head. The hair style is so elaborate he wonders how it can possibly be real, and not a wig (although wigs are lovely too). His hair is beautifully decorated with hair pieces - a matching blue set. He had examined them and had been surprised to see the ornate detail of identical dragon flies engraved into them.

'My hair is beautiful France! But was the mascara and dress really necessary?' says China, self consciously shifting the leg exposed by the long slit of the very, very tight dress.

'Oh, my dear China, it was definitely necessary…'

And from where they both sit, admiring themselves in the mirror, they do make very elegant women.

**Ok, the most interesting article on Chinese history you will read:**

** . ?searchterm=027_ &issue=027**

**Seriously this shit is crazy interesting:**

** new/p533598/**

**And a great article on European 18th century hair:**

** /hair_18th_ 's more but I'm lazy. Hope you enjoyed this!**

**Reviews are love.**


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